“Sorry about that,” a voice says from about a foot over my head, “I hope I didn’t hurt you, or...”
The voice is oddly familiar, though I can’t place where I may have heard it before. A commercial, maybe? Or the radio? It trails off into distracted silence, and I look up for some more clues as to whose it might be. The face looking down at me is utterly gorgeous—sculpted, symmetrical, and engaged. A short crop of dark hair and a hint of stubble on the mans’s razor-like jawline perfects his look. There’s a pair of dark rimmed glasses perched on his straight nose, and for a moment the overhead light glares against the lenses, obscuring his eyes from me.
But then he shifts, ever so slightly, and I can see his blue eyes clear as day. I recognize them at once, from the very core of me. How could I not? I’ve only thought about them every day, at least once a day, for the past eight years.
Emerson Sawyer is standing right in front of me. And from the look in those all too familiar eyes, I know full well that he recognizes me, too.
“Ah! Here he is!” I hear Cooper say, as if from very far away. “Emerson, I thought you weren’t due in for another couple of hours?”
“I was able to catch an earlier flight,” Emerson replies, his eyes still locked on me.
Now that I’ve placed that voice, every syllable he utters twists my heartstrings. His voice is lower, now. Richer. He’s even taller than he was when we last met, at least by a couple of inches. His body was muscular even when we were kids, but now every ounce of boyish baby fat has melted from his frame, leaving nothing but a perfectly cut form in its wake. He’s wearing perfectly-fitted dark wash jeans, a white cotton button down, and those designer black-rimmed glasses. No wonder I didn’t recognize him at first—Emerson’s transformed from a grungy, angry teenage boy to a successful, intellectual tech genius...
A tech genius who works for the same company I just landed a job at, who’s supposed to show me the ropes of my new position, and who clearly wasn’t briefed on the fact that I, Abby Rowan, was going to be his new protégé.
“I, uh, really have to run,” I say, my voice faint. “I have a...I’ve got to...”
“No worries. We’ll see you soon!” Cooper says. “Emerson here will teach you everything you need to know next week.”
“Right,” I say, my eyes locking onto Emerson’s once more. “OK. Well. Bye.”
I skirt around Emerson’s tall, built form, all but dive into the elevator, and jab the “close door” button with as much ferocity as I can muster. The second those doors snap shut again, I fall back against the elevator wall, my chest heaving, trying not to burst into tears. I feel like I’m going to faint. Or be sick. How could I have possibly not known that Emerson works for Bastian these days? What are the chances that we’d end up face-to-face like this, after all these years?
And what the hell am I supposed to do now?
I burst back out of the front doors, gulping down deep breaths as best I can. All around me, New Yorkers brush past, completely unaware that I’m having the strangest, most disorienting day of my life. But, that’s New York City for you—the best and worst place ever to have a panic attack. Struggling to regain a modicum of composure, I straighten myself up and make to book it away from the Bastian offices.
I get about three steps, too, before I feel a strong hand catch mine.
“Abby,” I hear Emerson say, “Abby, wait—”
“What did you do, scurry down the drain pipe?” I breathe, spinning around to face him.
“I prefer the stairs to the drainpipe, but thanks for the tip,” he replies, looking at me with dazed wonder. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
“I know. I’m sorry,” I say quickly, stepping out of the busy sidewalk traffic. “I had no idea you work here, Emerson. If I’d known, I never would have applied.”
“What?” he says, taking a step toward me. “Why not?”
“I didn’t mean to show up here, unannounced, and...you know. Crash your party,” I babble, unable to keep my eyes on his face for long. In the last eight years, his gorgeousness has solidified into sheer perfection. I can only hope that time has treated me half as well. “I promise, I’ll shoot Cooper an email this weekend and tell him I can’t accept the job.”
“Abby, I don’t want you to do that,” Emerson says, his brow furrowing slightly. “If you’d just listen to me for a minute, I could tell you that I’m not mad about your being here.”
“You’re not?” I ask, surprised, “But...why not?”
“Because we’re not ten years old, and this isn’t a ‘no girls allowed’ clubhouse, for one,” Emerson laughs. “It’s...wonderful to see you, Abby. Seriously. I can’t quite believe that it’s happening, but...”
“Yeah,” I laugh nervously, “I certainly wasn’t expecting to run into you, well...ever.”
“How the hell have you been?” he asks, laying a hand on my shoulder. My skin sparks at his gentle, familiar touch. “You look amazing.”
“Says you,” I chortle inelegantly.
Nice one, Abby, I chide myself.
“Yeah, says me,” Emerson smiles.
We lapse into silence, staring at each other there on the sidewalk. My heart is still hammering against my ribcage, my knees shake uncontrollably. Seeing Emerson again is like a dream. A very sexy dream. But that said, I need to wake up, now. The sooner the better.
“I really should go,” I insist, edging away, “This is wild and everything, but I don’t think we should draw it out, you know? I’ll just leave you to your company, and find some other agencies to apply to, and—”
“I just told you I don’t want you to turn down the job,” Emerson says, with just the slightest note of hardness.
“Yeah, well. I do want to turn it down,” I shoot back, a bit annoyed at his tone.
“Why’s that?” he insists, crossing his arms.
“Gee. I wonder,” I reply, rolling my eyes. “Working side-by-side with my estranged ex-stepbrother slash...”
“Slash what?” Emerson asks, his eyes hard on my face.
“I just think it would be a terrible idea,” I say flatly, “But, hey, maybe I’ll see you at a conference sometime, or—”
“Or over drinks,” he cuts me off, the corner of his mouth twisting up into his signature, roguish grin.